Xander glared at Finn and Miller for a tense moment before turning the power of his patented 'death stare' at Spike and Rom. "Why, pray tell," he asked, all too calmly, "didn't either of you tell me that Buffy and Willow had escaped?"

Spike shrugged nonchalantly, "Wasn't much you could do about it, mate. Marshall has people looking for them. So does Rupert. 'Sides, we know about them now, kinda puts a kink in their plans, don't it?"

Xander relaxed slightly, realizing Spike had a good point, but he still wasn't completely mollified. "I'd still feel better if they were locked up." Turning back to Finn and Miller, Xander quirked one brow at the slightly battered duo. "So, you two are the ones that have been feeding me all those tips. Why didn't you just come to me personally? It would have saved a lot of time and hassle."

Riley had the grace to blush, "We were under orders from our controller, all intel had to go through him, no direct contact. He said that it would jeopardize the mission."

Xander rolled his eyes and groaned, "Please. Please tell me that you don't work for that twit Owens? I wouldn't believe that ass wipe if he told me the sun was rising in the east. He's a total waste of oxygen. Fuck. I can't believe you two would be dumb enough to fall for his line of bullshit."

To say that Miller and Finn looked confused would have been a massive understatement. Rom was hard pressed to keep his laughter contained, Spike didn't even try. "Board, meet head," he said through his snickers.

Xander glared at him, but Spike just grinned unabashedly. Xander sighed in resignation and shook his head. "I wish I were still in a coma. I really do. Okay, I can tell this is going to take a while. Rom? Would you go get a couple of extra chairs, please?"

Rom exited the room with all due haste, but as the door closed behind him, everyone still in the room could hear him give in to the laughter he'd been trying to supress.

*****

General Marshall was sorely tempted to boot Owens' ass out the window. He couldn't stand the jackass, and now it was obvious, at least to him, that Owens was trying to cover his ass. But the truly astonishing thing was the fact that the moron thought that he was going to get away with it. The General eased back in his chair and gave Owens' fantasy his full attention. He wanted to make sure that he gave the ass enough rope to hang himself.

*****

Riley was in the unique position of wishing that a vampire, or some other nasty demon, would happen upon a human and eat him. After they'd tortured him for several hours, days even. Specifically, Special Agent Owens.

Xander Harris had given he and Graham a very rude awakening. All the intel they'd collected and passed on was never used unless it could be verified by at least three separate sources. And only once had their information come as a surprise. Harris and his squad had more sources of information than Riley could ever even hope to compile. And most of those sources were demons themselves. Harris made it a policy to work with peaceful demons, and as a result, several different species owed Harris their very existence. And those self-same demons had set up their own spy network to make sure that the human working to keep them alive knew all about the bad element.

And then there was the Nexus. Harris had saved the offspring of a Bremel demon, a demon so rare that only a handful of people had ever seen one. The Bremel, feeling that a tremendous debt was owed for the life of his only child, had given Harris 25 perfectly matched crystals. And those crystals formed the basis of the Nexus. Now the Hellmouth was out of commission. Permanently. Anything trying to get in or out would be cut into tiny little pieces by the most powerful laser known to man.

Riley felt like the rug that was his life had been pulled out from under his feet. Rug, hell, the entire foundation of his life was gone. And Graham looked just as bad off. His friend had always been quiet, but Miller hadn't said a single word since Harris had let them in on the reality of their situation. "Graham? Are you okay?" Riley asked when he noticed Graham was clenching and unclenching his fists.

"I'm gonna kill him," Graham said quietly. That calm statement was actually more believable, and more frightening, than any loud declarations could have been.

"Uh, Graham? I'm pissed too, but I don't think you really want to go there."

Graham just looked at him, his face calm and composed, "Why not?" he asked, sounding incredibly reasonable.

"You got anything special in mind?" Spike asked curiously. "Because you don't have a lot of time to decide. I just heard the General call someone Owens, and they're heading this way."

Xander closed his eyes and slumped back into his pillows, "I'm tired, I hurt and I really, really, want to go back to sleep," Xander said, sounding incredibly weary.

Then he sighed and opened his eyes, "All right. Here's how we're going to play this. Finn, you and Miller go hang out in the bathroom. Leave the door open enough so you can hear what's going on. Spike? You and Rom get comfy. You're here to keep the invalid company. Got it?"

The rest of the room's occupants scrambled into their places, none of the other men even questioning Xander's orders. When General Marshall escorted his guest into the room, there was no sign that Xander even knew Finn and Miller. Let alone that he'd been talking to Owens' scapegoats for the last hour.

Owens threw his customary, oily smirk at Xander and opened his mouth, but that was all he time for.

Spike recognized the scent coming into the room, his head whipping around so his eyes could verify what his nose was trying to tell him. Owens' face turned pale as soon as he got a look at Spike's face.

Spike was out of his chair and had Owens dangling from his fist before anyone else could even think of moving.

Xander pushed himself up in his bed, groaning when the staples in his chest pulled with the movement. "Spike? What the fuck is going on?"

Spike shook his prey, "I know this wanker. He's one of the ones that put me in the lab." Squeezing his hand slightly, Spike grinned widely when Owens started gasping for air. "Arsehole liked to come visit. Watch the experiments. Even came up with a few, didn't you?" Spike asked the slowly suffocating man.

"Put him down, Spike. Now." Xander ordered.

The vampire just growled and squeezed a little more. Xander used the bar on the side of his bed to pull himself upright. Swinging his legs to the floor, he tried to stand up. Tried and failed. He let out a pained gasp as he stood, a few of the staples holding the wound in his chest closed ripping loose with the movement.

Spike dropped his prey and was catching Xander before he could hit the floor. "What the Hell are you doing, you pillock? You aren't supposed to be out of bed yet." Spike chided irritably as he picked Xander up and put him back in bed. "Are you trying to kill yourself? Because if you want to die, there are a lot easier ways to go."

Xander gaped at Spike for a second and then chuckled weakly. "You better catch him before he gets away, Spike."

"Huh? What the Hell are you talking about?"

Xander pointed, Spike's head swiveling to follow his hand. Owens was creeping for the door while everyone was distracted. Quietly, but very, very quickly. For once, vampiric speed had nothing on good, old fashioned human reaction. Just as Owens opened the door, Graham Miller came flying out of the bathroom and buried his fist in the other man's belly.

Owens crumpled with a muffled squeak and lay on the floor, trying to get some air into his lungs. Miller just smirked and rubbed his fist. "I enjoyed that," he said in his quiet voice.

Rom nodded his head, "I can see that. Nice shot."

"Sgt. Montoya, call the MP's. Let's get Mr. Owens in a holding cell," General Marshall ordered.

Rom reached for the phone, but Xander stopped him. "Wait a second, sir. Let's think about this for a minute." The hopeful look on Owens' face died a sudden death when Xander continued. "I'd be willing to bet that Special Agent Owens here knows exactly where McIntyre and our missing prisoners are. Don't you Owens?"

Owens' face turned a sickly shade of grey, telling Xander that he'd been right on the mark. Xander smirked at the downed man, then turned a beautific smile in Spike's direction. "Spike? Would you care to interrogate Special Agent Owens for me, please?"

Spike's face shifted, his brow becoming ridged, his eyes yellow and his fangs extending. "Be happy to, mate."

Owens immediately started babbling, "Wait! You can't do this!"

Xander looked up at General Marshall, "Sir?"

Marshall smiled, not a pleasant smile, "It's always good to delegate these annoying little jobs, Harris. I think Captain Bloodwell is an excellent choice. Maybe Sgt. Montoya and these two young men would like to lend the Captain a hand?"

Riley and Graham picked Owens up between them and started hauling him towards the door, Spike and Rom right on their heels.

"Uh, guys?" Xander called just as the door closed behind them.

Spike stuck his head back in the door, his scarred brow cocked at an angle. "Yeah, mate?"

"Don't get any blood on the floor, and send me a nurse. I think I hurt something." Xander said with a grimace.

Spike sighed and shook his head, "Rom? You, Frik and Frak find out what we need to know from Owens. Get Jamison to take everything down. Your penmanship sucks. And get Wilson on the phone, tell him the Major pulled a boner."

Rom nodded, immediately doing what his Sire ordered. Spike sat on the edge of Xander's bed and gently lifted the edge of his bandages, wincing at the abused flesh. "You did a right number on yourself, pet. That's gonna to scar."

Xander grabbed Spike's hand and pulled it away from his chest, "Spike? What are you doing?"

"I'm making sure you're not going to bleed to death. What does it look like?" Spike asked irritably.

"But what about Owens?"

Spike just shrugged, "What about him? Rom can handle it. 'Sides, you're more important."

General Marshall managed to hide his smile as he quietly exited the room, unnoticed by either man. Grabbing Wilson as he came down the hall, Marshall said, "Not yet. Give Spike a minute."

"I need to check on Harris' injuries. He's never going to heal if he keeps pulling the staples loose."

Marshall just smiled and tugged Wilson down the hall with him. "There's more than one kind of injury and more than one kind of healing. I think what's happening right now could be the key to healing a very old, very deep, wound."

Wilson's eyes went big, "Harris and Spike? Really?"

Marshall's smile turned into a conspirical grin, "Oh, yeah. They don't know it yet, but it's there."

Wilson chuckled, "I shouldn't really be surprised after what happened when Harris was in the tank." Clapping his friend on the shoulder, Wilson asked, "Want a cup of coffee? I had just made a new pot when Montoya called."

"Let's go to the galley, Wilson, I'll buy. Sorry, but your coffee sucks."

It was an old argument between the two men, so Wilson just laughed, "Why do you think I never learned how to make decent coffee? You always offer to buy."

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